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Ian thought, that he meant well by his wife. If he had ever doubted that she could have any man she did not like killed or maimed into a helpless hulk, he doubted it no longer. An enemy to the Lady of Roselynde would be safe nowhere, neither in the town nor in the countryside, nor in the keep, either. |
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It was plain from the surprise and delight with which Alinor received some of the wondrous dishes presented to her that, although she had planned the meal, she had not planned those. A representation of Roselynde Keep was presented to her, complete in every detail, its walls and towers of pastry, the moat filled with honey, blued with crystallized violets, the sea breaking in a froth of white meringue upon the rocks and beaches below. A representation of the wedding followed, showing the church front, the three bishops with their staffs (two having obviously been crammed in at the last moment), the bride and groom (Alinor smiled; her maids' tongues had been busy for her orange and gold gown and Ian's emerald green were faithfully depicted), and the crowd of onlookers. How many extra days and nights of labor, how much thought and ingenuity her people had willingly added to the already onerous task they faced only to give her pleasure! |
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The entertainment was as rich as the food. Minstrels had been summoned from everywhere Alinor's messengers could reach. They played, sang, juggled, danced, and performed miracles of tumbling. Trained bears jigged lumberingly to tunes and were fed honeyed tidbits in reward; dogs formed pyramids, danced together, leapt through flaming hoops. And another surprise awaited Alinor. To her chagrin, she had not been able to engage a true troupe of players. However, before the guests became stupid with food or befuddled with wine, Sir John d'Alberin rose from his place, bellowed for silence and a clear floor, and announced that some acts of mimicry would be performed. It was, he |
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